


Heathers

by Liger1983



Series: Elisabeth-verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester/OFC - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Heathers - Freeform, Kids, Love, Marriage, OFC - Freeform, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Original Female Character - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liger1983/pseuds/Liger1983
Summary: The Winchester Family takes a trip down to Orlando to investigate the mysterious deaths of local high school students. One part hunt, one part family vacation. What could possibly go wrong?Takes place mid-Season 9.





	Heathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I mention that Dean has tattoos. I read somewhere that he was originally supposed to but the show didn't have the budget for it. I thought it was a cool idea, so I ran with it. :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Elisabeth woke up slowly, feeling warm and comfortable -- a little too warm for the usual chill of a Kansas November.

_Body heat._ She thought absently.

A large figure pressed against her back, and an arm, heavy with muscle, lay across her hip.

_Dean._

There was a smaller figure, curled up against her stomach and generating heat like a radiator. He gazed up at her with wide green eyes. The end of his thumb was stuck between his lips.

“Carter?” She brushed the shaggy hair out of the little boy’s face and gently pulled his thumb away from his mouth. “Why aren't you in your own bed?”

“I had a nightmare, Mommy.” His voice was shaky. Her sweet, happy son didn't typically have bad dreams, but ever since Kevin died and Gadreel disappeared, it seemed as though he was crawling in their bed every night. The couple never talked about such things in front of their children, but kids soak up stress like a sponge. And it's hard not to notice that a friend had disappeared. She wrapped her arms around Carter tightly as her heart swelled with sympathy for the toddler.

“It's okay, Baby,” she comforted, “It wasn't real. Mommy and Daddy would never let anything happen to you.”

“And Uncle Sam?” He worried.

She nodded and smiled at him, “Yes. And Uncle Sam.”

Carter appeared to be soothed by her words. He closed his eyes and nestled closer to her stomach, but his thumb stayed out of his mouth. Elisabeth kept her arms wound around her son as she glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost 7:30, which was about the time her youngest, Noah, usually decided he was hungry. But the baby monitor showed that he was still fast asleep, and she couldn't help but think of sleep herself. Dean was still out of it. Carter didn't have a very restful night. She could hear faint noises in the kitchen. Sam must be awake, but he was moving slowly and sluggishly -- most likely putting together a cup of coffee. Elisabeth felt her eyes drifting closed, so she snuggled back against Dean’s sleeping form. She could feel his breath, steady and slow, deep inside his chest. Maybe another hour of sleep would be good for them all.

The next time Elisabeth woke up, the only company left in the bed was crumpled blankets. She yawned and stretched and turned her attention to the black and white video feed of the nursery. Carter was sitting on the floor playing with Legos, his face calm and his nightmare forgotten. A smile flitted across her lips at the sight of her son's carefree playing. The smile widened as she took in the rest of the room. Dean sat in the rocking chair cradling the baby in his arms and feeding him milk from a bottle. Elisabeth was glad she had decided to use the breast pump last night, and she was glad she had a husband sweet enough to let her sleep in.

She grabbed her robe off the floor and wrapped it around herself. Her bare feet padded down the hallway of the bunker until she reached the nursery. The walls were a pastel green, like the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream. The nursery’s furniture - the cradle, rocking chair, and changing table - were all painted white. Of course, there were extra protections for the baby’s room, beyond just what the bunker provided. Salt lined the door, and a devil’s trap was painted under the plush carpet. 

The people in the room were as contently domestic as a family in a Christmas special. Carter was occupied with his Legos. Noah had finished his bottle and was now bouncing happily on his father’s knee. Dean chuckled at the six-month-old. Elisabeth leaned against the door frame, taking it all in.

“Hey,” the woman said with a smile. Dean met her eyes and grinned.

“Mornin’ Kitten,” he said, “sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “thank you for getting the kids.”

Crossing the room, she bent to press a sweet good morning kiss onto his lips. Dean ran his hand through her hair and leaned into the kiss. In one movement, so smooth that only a hunter could accomplish it, Dean slid the baby into her arms and her into his lap. Elisabeth relaxed into his embrace while Noah cooed and giggled at the sudden excitement, grabbing her shirt in his tiny fists. Dean kissed her hair before resting his chin on the top of her head, his hand stroking on her bare thigh, and they settled in to watch their eldest son play.

“Mommy!” Carter’s exclamation broke the couple apart.

“Yeah Buddy?” Elisabeth asked, looking down at the toddler. While he didn't break his gaze from the tower he was building, he replied, “Daddy said we're gonna have grilled cheese for lunch!”

“Oh yeah?” the mother giggled, “Do you want carrots or apple slices with your grilled cheese?”

“Apple juice!”

“Okay,” she nodded, “and carrots. Are you hungry now?”

Carter shook his head yes.

“Go tell Sam it's lunch time,” she said jerking her head towards the door. Carter scrambled upright and ran down the hallway. Dean and Elisa laughed at the image of their son, barefoot and in over-sized pajama pants, rushing to tell his Uncle the good news.

When he was out of sight, Elisabeth rested her head on Dean's shoulder. Her infant son’s curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes filled her vision. While she loved that Carter looked so much like Dean, it was nice to have a child resemble her. Running her fingers through the baby's hair, she cooed, “Noah, you look sleepy.”

“He's been up for a couple hours,” Dean said, “it's probably a good time for a nap.”

She climbed carefully off her husband’s lap, cradling Noah to her chest. Softly humming him a lullaby - the melody of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Landslide’ - she rested him on the soft bedding of his crib. The baby boy curled up on his side and his eyes drifted closed. His mother stroked his cheek and whispered, “Sweet dreams, My Little Angel.”

When she turned back toward the door, Dean was already on his feet, making his way towards the kitchen. Elisabeth caught his hand in hers at the doorway, stopping him in his tracks. With a raised eyebrow, he asked, “what's up?”

“Are you okay?” She whispered, not wanting the rest of the family to hear. His expression instantly darkened. Dean pulled his hand from hers and ran it down his stiffened jaw. He hadn't missed the true meaning of her question. _'Do you still blame yourself for Kevin’s death?'_

“I'm fine.” His response was curt and his expression was steely. She frowned at him. A hurt look flitted across her face. The woman’s gaze was soft, full of love and concern. Dean closed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't meant to be so short with her. Somewhere in his stubborn mind, he knew she was looking out for him.

“I'm getting better.” His voice was more gentle this time. “It just blows that there are no leads on Gadreel. I wanna catch that son of a bitch.”

“You will, Babe. Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she assured him, running her hand down his arm, "I love you."

"Love you too," he said automatically. Dean couldn't quite bring himself to believe her. Nevertheless, he took her hand again, and they walked together into the main rooms of the bunker.

Sam was sitting at the table in his usual spot. His laptop and a nearly empty mug of coffee sat before him, and a couple of odd books were scattered behind that. He was the only person who was fully dressed. Dean and Elisabeth were still in their robes, but Sam had on jeans and his favorite blue flannel. Carter had somehow lost his t-shirt between the nursery and the dinner table, so he was sitting, kicking his feet dressed in just Batman pajama pants.

Elisabeth walked into the kitchen to start making their lunch. The two men moved to help, but she waved them off and they both sat down at the table. She got out the bread, butter, and cheese, and she chopped the carrots into kid-friendly pieces.

“So get this,” Sam said, whipping his laptop around to face Dean, “I think I've got -”

“A lead on Gadreel,” Dean interrupted, “fantastic.”

“No,” Sam huffed, “but -”

Dean cut him off again. “We need to find that son of a . ..”

He shot a quick glance at the toddler and trailed off. The boy was listening with rapt attention, and  
Elisabeth wouldn't be happy if Carter picked up some of Dean’s more ‘colorful’ phrases.

“I know, Dean,” Sam huffed. He was wearing what Dean called his ‘token bitch face’, “You think I don't want to gank him just as much as you do? The things he made me do . . .”

A look of deep pain flashed across his face, and, for a moment he seemed to be in another place. 

“But we haven't had any leads in weeks, Dean,” Sam continued, “and we have to keep doing our jobs. People need our help.”

“Fine,” Dean relented after a long pause, “what's the case?”

Sensitive to the young child sitting next to them, Sam didn't answer him out loud. Instead, he pushed his laptop towards Dean. The headline read ‘Two More High Schoolers Die After Contracting Mysterious Illness’. A quick scan of the article revealed more information. Three popular high school students had mysteriously fallen ill over the last week. They had both slipped into a coma and died, though they had no other symptoms. The local police did not suspect foul play, as they believed it to be an illness. The local doctors, however, were baffled.

Dean nodded as he read the article. This definitely seemed like their kind of thing.

Just like there was no cussing in front of the kids, Elisabeth didn't allow monster-talk in front of them. So Sam intervened, “Hey, Little Man?”

Carter looked at his uncle.

“Why don't you go help your mom make lunch?”

The boy complied, skipping off to the kitchen, and, as soon as they were out of range of his little ears, Sam and Dean started discussing their case.

“At first I thought it might be a Shtriga,” Sam speculated, “but it doesn't quite fit. The victims are usually young children.”

“But nothing says it has to be kids, right?” Dean said, “Didn't you and Samuel work a case where they were feeding on adults?”

“Yeah, but they were drug addicts or alcoholics,” Sam explained, “impaired in some way. Vulnerable. Not otherwise healthy teenagers.”

“Okay. You got any other ideas?”

Sam exhaled loudly and pushed away from the table. “Nope. You hit the lore and try and see what else fits. I'll see if I can find any more information online about the vics.”

Sam started skimming over the book titles of their library, pulling out any he thought might be relevant and tossing them onto the table.

But Dean could smell the grilled cheese his wife was making.

“After lunch,” he said with a grin.

Elisabeth carried in the four plates. They were expertly balanced on her arms, a trick she had picked up while waitressing in college. As she set the plates down in front of the men, she carefully avoided the haphazardly arranged ancient texts.

“Beers?” Elisabeth offered, looking at Sam and Dean. She had already set down her own drink, a Coke, at her usual spot on the table. 

“What's beers?” Carter asked, his young mind striving to learn all it could. Without missing a beat, she answered, “a drink for grown-ups.”

“I'll get ‘em,” Sam offered politely, moving towards the kitchen. “You sit and eat.”

“Thanks!” She called, “Carter’s sippy cup is ready to go on the counter!”

Glass and plastic clinked together as Sam rummaged through the fridge. Elisabeth’s eyes flitted over the new collection of books on the table.

“So,” she turned to talk to Dean, “you got a case? Where is it?”

“Lake Buena Vista, Florida,” he replied, taking another bite of his sandwich, “near Orlando, I think.”

“Oh,” she replied. Dean was too wrapped up in his lunch to notice the gears turning in her head. She continued, “long drive.”

“S’not too bad,” he slurred with his mouth full.

“It's a two days drive,” Sam said as he returned. He passed out the drinks: beers for the two brothers, a Coke for Elisabeth, and apple juice in a sippy cup for the toddler.

Carter pouted at the drink. His bottom lip poked out and his eyebrows knitted together.

“Green one!” His small voice demanded. He wanted the green top to his cup, not the red that currently adorned his Thomas the Tank Engine cup.

“I couldn't find the green one, Carter,” his mother said, trying to avoid a full-blown tantrum, “use the one you have.”

“Green!” Carter screamed, “No!”

“Carter!” Dean said sternly, “you're not being nice. You hear me? Tell your mommy that you're sorry.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Carter muttered, looking down at his plate.

“It's okay, Baby. Thank you for saying you're sorry,” she praised, reinforcing the good behavior.

‘Thanks,’ she mouthed to Dean before saying out loud, “was that Noah’s first bottle?”

Dean shook his head. “Second. I gave him the first around eight this morning.”

“Awesome. I'll cook the leftover carrots and give them to him after his nap.”

The family finished their meal together. The grown-ups talked and laughed. They listened to the four-year-old tell his long, rambling stories and answered all his many questions. They spent the afternoon in placid normalcy -- at least as close to normalcy as the Winchesters could get. The kids played together, and they played with their mom. The two hunters spent their time working, researching. 

At 8:00, the kids were finally put to bed. Noah was sleeping peacefully in his cradle, and Carter was curled up snugly in his Batman sheets. 

Dean was lying down, stretched across their bed when Elisabeth came in for the night.

“They boys are asleep,” she announced, pulling her shirt over her head and reaching for a pajama top.

The hunter's gaze fell on his wife’s now-nude torso, and all other thoughts left his mind. He propped himself up on his elbow, and his eyes roamed her body hungrily . . . her cleavage, beautifully displayed in a baby pink push-up bra . . . the soft curves of her waist.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

A smile crept over her lips, and she made a point of exaggerating the sway of her hips as she wriggled her jeans off. Dean's hand were on her in a second. One warm, calloused hand cupped her breast, slipping it out of the confines of her bra and rolling her nipple between his rough fingertips. The other wrapped around her waist, pulling her petite body flush against his well-muscled form. Her body aching for more, Elisabeth grabbed his hands and pushed them tighter against her skin. She whimpered needily. He thrust his hips forward, pressing the beginnings of an erection into her lower back. He wanted her to feel his cock hardening for her. She pushed back against him.

Dean lay a line of soft kisses across her bare shoulders.

He made his way down her body, peeling off her bra and panties. With his lips and the tips of his fingers, he traces the memories that were etched into her body. As he removed her bra, he pressed his lips against the scar between her breasts. It was a small divot where a micro-dermal used to be. She had gripped his hand as she got it. 

Dean knelt to take off her thong. He ran his fingers across the faint scar that transversed her pubic bone. The fear he felt during the emergency delivery would always be one of the worst times of his life. He gently kissed her C-section scar. 

As he waited for her to step out of her panties, he smiled at the ink on her ankle. It was her first tattoo and a tribute to him: a stick-and-poke impression of roses in an empty beer bottle. He had given the real life version of these flowers to her on one of their early dates. In the place of a logo on the beer bottle’s label, she had put his initials “DW”.

He stood back up to hold her again, kissing her and letting his hands roam.

“Dean,” she moaned, and a new wave of blood rushed to his dick. Spinning them around so that she faced the bed, he playfully shoved her onto the mattress. Her sweet, jovial laugh egged him on. After quickly unclasping her bra, he flipped her onto her back. With a predatory gleam in his eye, he climbed onto the mattress. She retreated towards the headboard, and he followed until she came to rest on the pillow. His body was a protective cage around her, an arm on either side of her head, straddling her hips. Her legs fell open, giving him access to every inch of her body. His lips captured hers, and she returned the kiss eagerly.

After a minute of passionate kissing, Dean sat up. His eyes raked over her body, taking it in. Her golden-blonde hair fell around her face like a halo. She had bright eyes and full lips. He had always thought her face looked angelic and innocent. It was a beautiful contrast with her intoxicating curves and the sinful tilt of her hips. He didn't call her ‘sex kitten’ for nothing.

“Elisa,” he said between kisses, “you are . . . so . . . fucking . . . sexy.”

“I love you, Dean,” she gasped breathlessly. Her swollen breasts were heaving.

He all but ripped his clothes off.

He gave his cock a few quick pumps with his hand before guiding it into her hot, wet pussy. She moaned in appreciation and her hips bucked to meet his. Elisabeth grabbed at and desperately clawed the skin of his shoulders and back, trying to pull him closer to her and deeper inside of her.

His thrusting was agonizingly slow for her, but, for him, the steady tempo felt amazing. What felt more amazing was her reaction to his teasing pace. Squirming, she begged, “faster.”

Dean didn't listen. Instead, he grazed his thumb over her most sensitive spot. Elisa almost jumped out of her skin. Her hands flew to his, instinct telling her to put greater pressure on her clit. Without breaking the pace of his hips, he snatched her hands away from her body and pinned them above her head.

“Slut,” he teased. His other hand returned to her clit. He fucked her fast and rubbed her hard. A warm glow spread through her abdomen, and the tension built as he pounded her over and over. His long, thick shaft filled and stretched her. Her hips started bucking on their own as a primal need built inside of her, about to spill over.

“Dean,” she screamed, “Dean, I’m coming!”

Her body jerked. Her breath was rapid and uneven. Sweat broke out on her skin. To Dean, she was the sexiest thing on the planet. He had fucked her hard through her orgasm, but, now that she was coming back down to earth, he slowed to gentle, deep thrusts. He pulled his hands off her over stimulated body and, he ran his fingers through her sweat soaked hair. Her spastically throbbing cunt had brought him so close to the edge.

“Did that feel good, Baby?” he hissed, nuzzling into her neck. He kissed her throat and nibbled at her ear. “Want another?”

“Yes!” she gasped. He pulled out long enough to roll her onto her stomach, then he slid his throbbing cock back into her. This position made her already tight hole even smaller and it gave him the perfect angle to hit her g-spot. He pushed into her roughly, and she fucked back against him as hard as she could. Elisabeth gasped and moaned his name. Dean growled, “I'm so close, Kitten.”

He felt her body clench, and her wet pussy spasmed around his cock. It sent him over the edge. He gave one last thrust before he spilled into her.

Dean rolled off of her, breathing heavily. Soaked in sweat and still shaking from her orgasm, Elisabeth snuggled closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around her. As they lay cuddled together and catching their breath, her hands traced the tattoos across his chest and down his arm. They were a black and white collection of the imagery he had seen in his youth. She traced down his arm until her fingers grazed a realistic drawing of a beer bottle, filled with roses. The tattoo artist had designed an elaborate label for it, and it looked like real branding. But she could see her name clearly. A smile graced her lips.

Dean kissed her forehead. Running his fingers through her hair, he whispered, “you're so beautiful.”

 _‘And so hard to leave ... ’_ he thought. He had already packed his duffel for Florida.

“I love you.” He kissed her lips softly. She whispered it back, fear in her voice. Hunting terrified her. When they were dating, it was scary, but she knew she could survive the loss. Now he was her best friend, her husband, and the father of her children. He was everything. And that was terrifying. And, though she understood the danger, she thought the hardest part came in being away from him. When they were apart, she missed the easy conversations and casual touches.

“Dean?” she asked, looking up at him. He pulled away enough to look into her eyes. She looked down at his chest, avoiding eye contact. She said, “You're going to Lake, uh, something?”

“Lake Buena Vista.”

“Yeah,” she continued, “that's near Orlando right?”

“Yeah, I - “ he stopped short. His jaw clenched. “No.”

“We'll be safe, Dean,” she pleaded.

He threw the covers off himself and jumped out of bed. His eyes were steely and his fists were clenched. Dean started snatching his discarded clothes from the ground. As he was pulling on his boxers, Elisabeth said, “Babe, come on. Where are you going?”

After a long, deep breath, Dean closed his eyes and set his jeans back on the floor. “Nowhere. I'm not going anywhere.”

He lay back down on the bed next to her and cupped her face in his hand.

“I just can't let you get hurt.”

“I know,” she said gently, “but we want our kids to have a normal life, right? Normal kids go to Disney.”

“What if it's a shtriga?” he said, “they go after kids. What if they hurt Carter? Or Noah?”

“Didn't you decide it wasn't that?” she pointed out.

He argued, “but what if it is? Or a guy with dream root? Or a witch? Or any number of evil sons of bitches? Do you know how to handle that? Could you pull the trigger if it came down to it?”

Elisabeth sighed. She vaguely remembered something about iron bullets, but Dean had always shielded her from the harsh realities of hunting. She didn't actually know how to kill much of anything. But she knew admitting that wouldn't get her kids a Disney vacation.

“I would do anything for them,” she told him.

“I know,” he said, but he remained unconvinced. She would die for her family, he didn't doubt that, but he knew she was too sweet and innocent to actually kill anything. It could be inconvenient, sure. It could be downright dangerous at times, but he loved her for it. For a long time, she had been his only light in a dark, dark world.

“We’ll stay in a different hotel if you want. And you can join us as soon as you kill … it,” she urged, still trying to convince him. “We’ll be safe, Dean, I promise.”

Wordlessly, Dean leaned over the side of the bed and rummaged through the clothes on the floor. Elisabeth frowned. She thought he was going to try and leave again. Instead, he resurfaced with a credit card in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Get a nice room, Kitten,” he said, “Geoffrey Smith is buying.”

Elisabeth grinned at him. She kissed his cheek and said, “I'll thank you later.”

“Oh you better,” he teased, swatting at her butt as she hopped out of bed. She pulled his discarded t-shirt over her head and grabbed her laptop before bouncing back onto the bed. Dean pulled his robe on. He said, “I'll go tell Sam.”

Elisa did some quick Googling to find the best way to handle a toddler and baby at the theme parks -- bring your own stroller, lots of changes of clothes, etc. -- and she booked tickets for the whole family. Two days at the Magic Kingdom, two at the Animal Kingdom, and one at Epcot. And she booked the family a two bedroom suite at a nearby hotel.


End file.
